Mutiny Aboard The Jolly Roger
by Faemonic
Summary: The crew of the Jolly Roger takes a step too far for young Captain Killian Jones. Rated M for themes.
1. The Maiden

**Disclaimer:** Everything from _Once Upon A Time_ belongs to ABC and Disney. This is a work of fanfiction shared without profit or intent of copyright infringement.

**Warning:** This contains rape, abortion, violence, rude language. You have been warned. Also contains (consenting) sadomasochism, and (consenting) non-heterosexual relations.

**Notes:**

Squaw mint exists in our world, too, also known as Pennyroyal or _Mentha pulegium._ It is a potent abortifacient and induces menstruation, it tastes pleasantly of lemon and mint so it makes a good flavoring for fish or pudding...and it's, uh, fatal to ingest. I wonder how that works out.

Granuaile is a pirate queen of Irish legend and history, at least as historical as Hua Mulan. The first sea shanty in this story is very, very loosely based on the traditional Irish song of rebellion that mentions this figure (_Óró, sé do bheatha abhaile_) in that the tune was the same one I had in mind-but the original is more patriotic than feminist.

J.M. Barrie, author of the stageplay and novel _Peter and Wendy_, was a contemporary and close friend of Robert Louis Stevenson who authored _Treasure Island_. The crossover is canon to Barrie's novel, where Long John Silver is always referred to by his nickname, Barbecue.

* * *

**MUTINY ABOARD THE JOLLY ROGER**

**Chapter 1**

Captain Jones would not have recognized his successor, and not only because Liam Jones was dead and in no position to recognize anything. Killian Jones had taken to piracy like a river salmon to the sea. Victory had taught him to swagger, death had taught him to flirt, and sacrifice had taught him to be ruthless.

Raids were simple. Those aboard most of their target ships would know that these had become dangerous waters, and wouldn't lay their lives down for shiny treasures even if they could fight off the pirate crew. The real adventures would be when Killian caught sight of the King's ships. If they didn't open fire, he would take that time to shout to the other ship's crew that they served a liar and a murderer—and he should know, as he was once one of them. If they didn't join his cause (and they never did, being less receptive to Killian's great speeches than Killian's own) then he would save them from experiencing the king's betrayal by cutting them down there and then.

These opponents fought not only for their lives, but for their kingdom; they would be loyal, passionate, and organized—and Killian would return to _The Jolly Roger_, not only victorious, but without a scratch on him. At first, he tried to remember every face, to feel the loss of every life weighed against his grief and fury—but when it became clear that his swordsmanship equaled that of a dozen men at least of his selfsame build and training, why, who wouldn't swagger? Who wouldn't preen at the title of dread pirate, and coat himself in black and scarlet, and forget he was ever a dead man's little brother?

Once, two of his men laid claim to the same booty and began to fight for it. Captain Jones threw it overboard and declared that there was plenty to go around and no such petty skirmishes would be needed. No glint of danger shone in his eye, no rough word about how a petty skirmish would not be tolerated either. He had done it almost as a cruel jest—and his entire crew laughed along. So he learned to do the same with words, spite and glee like two edges of a blade, and his men would carry on in high spirits, which the young captain took to mean that he was doing right.

Other pirate crews did not take well at first to this young upstart, whose crew still carried the airs of a proper navy—not even privateers. When the first ogre wars reached inland of Muirias, Killian declared that to raid shipments of rationed goods for civilians inland would be bad form. Pirates who didn't agree to his terms either fell to his blade or sunk with their ships—for which the King's navy would never thank him, not that he wanted them to.

Three notable exceptions to Killian's slaughter of the pirates within his reach: _The Jolly Roger_'s first mate Flint, who had previously been captain of a pirate ship by the name of _The Walrus_; second mate Mullins, who had previously been a spy aboard _The Walrus_; and quartermaster-cook-captain Barbecue of _The Walrus_, who had usurped Flint, crossed swords with Killian, and survived to complain. Loudly. And in detail, not all of which were even true. No, Barbecue did not join Killian's crew.

Reputation turned out to be more effective than swordsmanship. After the formidable Barbecue's complaints had made their rounds, pirates left the ration shipments well alone. That is, until Killian discovered that by "rationed" the royal family meant, "re-sold to those who could afford to also cover the tax". That should have soured his taste for politics, and he said it did—seafaring and landlubbering politics alike—but the burden of being a rebel with standards would follow him until he sailed alone to entirely new other worlds. Even relaxing his standards, to put it kindly, relieved the burden none at all.

At a pirate's port, Killian encountered another captain who rivaled his own title as dread pirate. Captain Jones won the duel, but Captain Roberts won the drinking game, and in the morning they dressed and left the inn with an agreement to both be dread pirates of different territories. Killian remembered that night well, if not fondly, for Westley had been a handsome fellow despite all his pining over some lost love or other (Marigold? Daisy? What was her name?)—but he retained a definite preference for women.

Most of his men spent their treasure first on women, whenever they docked, wherever they docked. Killian alternately brooded up a storm, and celebrated the painful deaths of his enemies with thunderous laughter. Such a temperament left no room for lust, romance, or sentiment.

Once—this was after the awful mess with the crew of _The Walrus_, but before the duel with Captain Roberts—they set the anchor down by a harbor town for a fortnight: an encounter with a sea monster had left the foremast and starboard side in need of repairs. The young Captain Jones had been so elated at the fact that he and his surviving crew had, well, survived that he thought to seek a particular kind of company to share his elation.

A courtesan—not a whore, for it wasn't that kind of town after all—was impressed by his good manners and the force of his personality, and she took him in as a lecturer to the men of her guild. In exchange, her guild would use their connections to discourage the town's law enforcers from actually enforcing law upon these pirates while the ship remained anchored in their bay. All other guild services required payment.

Killian was landsick for most of it, but at the end felt he had learned far more than he had taught.

Flint, who upon disembarking had told Killian that there was no reason to stay if _The Jolly Roger_ wouldn't—or "was in no condition to"—race Barbecue to Bones-with-the-treasure-map, had re-joined the crew at the end of the fortnight. He elected himself First Mate once more, claiming to have seen the bright side of the nasty rumor that Barbecue had spread of Flint's undignified death. Flint and Mullins said they were both ready to stand by their captain, even in the face of another sea monster, and Killian had believed them.

Among pirates, the title of First Mate was honorary rather than honored. The real power on the ship was held, obviously, by their charismatic Captain; and then by the Quartermaster, whose name was Teyente.

Teyente hailed from the Moorlands, and had graduated from the same school as Killian the same year as Killian himself. He was as good a swordsman as Killian, perhaps better, because whenever they sparred the Moor would insist upon holding the sword in his left hand when he was right-handed. He only switched the sword to his right hand when he thought it was time to win. Killian said that he would rather his own left hand be lopped off before he ever resorted to such a dishonorable trick, and they wouldn't quite be friends again until after that very event had come to pass.

Their Boatswain had another birth name, but named himself Blackbeard upon becoming a pirate. This amused Killian because the Boatswain was clean-shaven and bald.

Thomas was the name of their Surgeon, Richards the name of the Master Rigger, Harrison was their Helmsman, Nigels their Navigator; young Jack could do anything and everything (but not quite as well as the people assigned to those tasks,) and young Simons could only do very simple tasks (but he performed them exceedingly well.)

Below deck labored Murphy the Master Gunner, who spoke very pessimistically about everything, his assistants Chekhov and Foggerty, who listened; and Cookson, neither of whose parents were cooks, although he himself was one. The ship's Carpenter was named Bill Jukes.

Killian would listen, even if he didn't look as if he were, even if his crew weren't talking to him, when they spoke about where they wanted to explore, or what rumors of new trade routes that would be worth pursuing. When he gave the commands for where they'd set sail, his crew would cheer…or not, or one or two would grumble as they brought up the anchor—but they would be over with it once the wind was in their sails.

It was a pirate's life for all of them. This was, thought Captain Killian Jones, how to lead free men.

It all changed the day that they raided the _Maimie Mannering_. Someone had set it on fire. Killian later supposed that it had been set by a crew-member of the _Maimie_ and not from the _Jolly Roger_, and that was an unusual response to a raid. His own crew retreated from the thousand searing flags with nothing to show for their efforts. At least, that's what Killian thought as he brushed the ash off his boots and shouted for the crew to move on.

They returned to their merriment, louder than usual, even—and their captain, ready as he ever was to make merry, even after a setback such as this, was instantly suspicious. His crew crowded the deck, with their backs to him, shouting with a focused exhilaration that struck him as sinister. Then their prisoner cried out, and Killian's blood froze in his veins. It was a woman's voice.

"Move aside," he commanded, but for the first time his crew hadn't heard him. He unsheathed his sword, and the hiss of his blade caught their attention. They quieted, and nudged the crewmen around them into silence, and backed away from their Captain as he approached, making a clearing around their prisoner.

The figure in black tried to back away without going near anyone, which of course meant that she had nowhere to back away. She trembled, visibly, as she sank to sitting on the deck, and she pressed her tear-streaked face to her knees. The inside of one ankle had a streak of blood.

"What have you done," breathed Captain Jones, to nobody in particular, because he knew very well what had been done. He strengthened his voice and addressed everyone. "Who took her?" Nobody replied. "None of you? Someone did. All of you?" He walked around, looking at every face. Some looked down. Others gazed past him, even sulking a bit as if he had ruined some fun that they had a right to. "All of you. Against one unarmed girl. One of you against her would have been a most grievous dishonor!"

"Captain," said Harrison the Helmsman, who had stayed aboard during the raid. "You did say the men share the spoils." A murmur of agreement spread amongst the crew.

Killian's voice was colder and more cutting than his blade. "Whomever she names, or recognizes as her attacker, shall be made to walk the plank." He sheathed his sword as he said this, an act that diminished the danger of his fury not one bit. "Perhaps the rest of ye scugs will remember the difference between a thing to be shared, and a bloody person. Aye?"

The crew stayed silent as their captain dropped to one knee before the maiden—and she was a maiden still. Rape didn't count. The black she wore, Killian couldn't help but notice, could have been a mourning dress—

"Did you hear me, lass?" He asked.

She lifted her head.

"Whatever they've done, whoever did so, it's over—and won't happen again. I give you my word that no harm shall come to you here." He meant it, but he added, with a hint of levity, "No more harm, in any case." And when she continued to stare at him, he reached out to stroke her hair.

He'd meant to put her at ease, but he'd only learned one way to do that, and it was entirely wrong. His expression was entirely wrong. The maiden made a frightened sound, pushed herself to her feet, and then she half-stumbled, half-ran to the side of the ship, looking out at where the _Maimie_ still burned in the distance. She climbed up the side and began shouting in a language that Killian didn't understand.

"None of that!" He exclaimed, as he pulled her back onto the deck. "Your ship's burnt up. It's gone. There is no land anywhere nearby, and I won't have you drowning yourself—!"

A few crew members burst into laughter—relieved, no doubt, that none of them would be made to walk the plank, although their captain had said it often enough and none of them ever had. Killian, it must be confessed, took the maiden rather roughly by the arm and led her below deck, though she twisted and kicked and shouted with shrill desperation. "Swab the decks of this mess," he ordered, and though the crew laughed, they did as he said.


	2. Awkward Conversations

**Chapter 2**

They kept vellum, quill pens, and inks for map-making in the room beside the captain's quarters, and it was to this room that Killian brought the maiden. He kept his distance, and merely spoke until she calmed down. Unfortunately, as he found out that, neither of them could draw people very well, and Killian couldn't very well pantomime the request for the identities of her rapists. In the end, he set up a hammock in the map-making room and demonstrably left the key on the table, and even more demonstrably showed the maiden that the door was to be barred from the inside—because by now, every man on ship knew how to pick a lock—and he left the room. When he heard the plank fall across the doorway, he told himself that it was time to attend to other matters. Reporting to the cook that they had failed to renew supplies, for instance.

Cookson had already heard. "But we supplied ourselves with a woman, didn't we, Captain." It wasn't a question, and the cook's expression was solemn. "That was a line I thought you'd never cross."

Killian bit back a harsh reply, and forced a smile. "You and I seem to be the only men on this ship who think so."

At that, Cookson sighed with relief. "She still lives, then?"

"That she does."

"Poor thing!"

Killian was baffled by the cook's reaction. "I just told you that she still lives. Rape is rude, and artless, but it's hardly fatal."

"There's some dishonor that's worse than death," Cookson said.

"I know that," said Killian, beginning to get quite cross. "You know I know that. The dishonor's theirs, not hers. If only I knew who they were. She's just had a fright, that's all—and she doesn't speak our language. When she's in her right mind again, I've half a mind to line the crew up and hand her a loaded pistol."

At that, Cookson balked. "Captain, no!"

"Those weren't a smart pair of words to put together, Cookson," said Killian, sharply.

"That is to say," said Cookson, more gently, "You couldn't mean that…" A raised eyebrow from the captain dared the cook to continue, and he did: "For my family's safety, I haven't sent word to them on land since joining your crew. That could have been my sister, and then where's the honor you promised us? That's why I'm concerned. But I'm not the only one who gave up the world to join you—we all did, and what you're saying to do them, well, that just isn't right, either."

"Do you think I've forgotten? They've been my brothers-in-arms since Liam went to the deep—" Killian felt a pang, just saying his brother's name. "But I won't have this on my ship."

"Those that didn't do it are on the side of those that did," Cookson blurted. "If you won't have this, you won't have a crew."

"You're full of gossip and opinions today, cook!" The sarcasm in Killian's voice made Cookson flinch. "Well, out with it. What have they said?"

"Foggerty came back to the gunner room, saying…They've all laughed off your latest threat to have them walk the plank…"

"Nothing new, there. Go on."

"They've got it into their heads that you're only cross that they didn't let you have her first, and now you want to make up for it by having her to yourself."

Killian made a sound that was half a scoff and half a humorless laugh.

"They expect you to kill her after. If you don't…" Cookson trailed off. "I don't know what they'll do."

_What demons to talk so_, thought Killian, but he affected a casual air. "You worry too much, Cookson, and about all the wrong things. How often do the gunmen come into the kitchens to chat? Murphy's a bad influence." He could see that Cookson was about to say more, and interrupted him with, "No. Enough. Tell me about dinner."

Cookson began to search the tins in the pantry. As he searched, he said, "There's just enough salted fish to almost make a full meal for everyone today, but that's if we starve tomorrow. Shall I halve the portions instead?"

"No," Killian decided. He knew that Flint the First Mate had already directed Nigels the Navigator and Harrison the Helmsman to the merpeople's surface town of Reef. "We can catch the last of the floating market before it goes underwater again. What are you looking for?"

The cook had found it: a large pouch of dried leaves. "You really won't put the girl to death? She might take it as a mercy."

Killian sighed. "I won't put anyone to death today," he said, inaccurately. "Even if I could understand any such request from her, I still wouldn't. I don't support cowardice."

"Well!" Cookson threw the bag over, which Killian caught in both hands. "That's for her."

The captain took a whiff, and recognized the smell. "Squaw mint?"

"If she takes enough of it as a tea, she won't get with child. Unless you think that supports cowardice as well." Cookson set to bringing out their stores of dried fish, and bread trenchers. "I'll see what I can make to soften the trenchers, it's likelier to be a soup than a sauce…Are you all right, captain?"

"Aye," Killian lied. "Carry on. Thank you for this, Cookson. I'll be off, now—"

After the courtesan's tutelage, Killian had thought he knew everything there was to know about women's bodies. It troubled him that he forgot how miniature people tended to take root and grow in them. He wondered what else he could be forgetting, or what else he didn't know, under the circumstances.

The captain's quarter's had a table, and on that table rested a pitcher of rainwater made of a similar crystal as fairy dust. In sunlight, it would heat the contents to boiling without setting fire to anything outside of it, and in darkness it would turn the contents to frost by the same magic. Killian couldn't quite sort out how to trick his crystal pitcher into thinking that candlelight was sunlight, which only happened sometimes, so he invented iced coffee once by accident and disliked it so much that he stuck to rum. Presently, he used it to brew tea, and he took it—on a tray, with a tin of biscuits—to the maiden in the map room.

She must have recognized his voice, but it took a while for her to unbar the door. When he entered, he saw map on the desk on which she had marked an arrow.

"That's where your ship was headed," he said, setting the tray down and picking up the map. More pantomiming between them confirmed that this was, indeed, where the _Maimie _would have docked. "Aye, we can take you there. It's the least we could do. Actually, _this _is the least I could do—" he gestured to the tray, "but I'll still do the other." He flashed her a smile that she didn't return.

The biscuits were gingerbread, cut into the shapes of people, which made it very easy for Killian to act out exactly what the squaw mint tea would do. He held the biscuit over his stomach with one hand, drank the cup of tea he held in the other, and then dropped the biscuit on the ground—where it ran about the cabin, daring them to catch it in a magical voice that had been baked into the sugar frosting. Killian wondered if that last bit ruined the demonstration, and he did try very much to convey that she didn't _have_ to drink it if she didn't want to—hoping that she wouldn't—But the maiden, previously suspicious of the offering, filled the cup to the brim from the pitcher, drank it down, poured herself another, drank it while it still steamed and must have scalded the inside of her mouth, halted Killian when he tried to slow her down, and repeated the process until the pitcher was empty. Then she cried.

Killian would never attend a glummer tea party.

There was more. The maiden had drawn a sort of bangle on a parchment, and held it up to him, speaking very urgently about it through her tears.

"I don't know what to make of that," Killian said, but he took it in his hand and looked it over carefully. The bangle would have a single oval stone set in it, around which various tiny symbols were engraved. When he made expressions and gestures to the effect that he would keep the drawing, the maiden gestured that he should. He kept it in the breast pocket of his coat and left the room.


	3. Bad Dreams

**Chapter 3**

He still had his crew to lead. Demons, part of him screamed when he saw them milling about above deck. Brothers, said another part of him. His crew. His family. And finally, Cookson's reminder, "If you won't have this sort of thing on this ship, you won't have a crew."

So, he mustered another one of his speeches about how this was the last meal they'd have ready, but the next raid was bound to be no trouble—

"Is the slut still with us, then?" asked Nigels the Navigator.

"Where else would she be? Thanks to you lot," said Killian. To a horror that he wouldn't show, some of the crew jeered.

"The fishing village is gone, earlier than expected," Flint the First Mate said. "That explains it. Women on a pirate ship is bad luck."

Killian gave a hollow laugh. "Bad luck for whom?"

"Now, now, Captain…Done is done," said the Blackbeard the Boatswain, gesturing to emphasize his concern. A ring on his finger caught Killian's' attention—it had an oval stone, with tiny engravings around it. "…and you've had a go for a day—"

"No, I haven't."

The Boatswain pursed his lips. "Ursula is a jealous woman, and She is the sea. We ought to do away with the wench before we embark on another raid, Captain—before dawn, if it could be helped."

"Then set a course for Port Barrie," Killian ordered, "That's where we'll release her."

Flint and Blackbeard exchanged glances. Nigels looked surprised. "Port Barrie's not safe for pirates, Captain."

"Oh, I'll give you until after dinner to gather your mettle," said Killian, who had lost his appetite. He stood, strode past the Boatswain, and told him, "See me."

The boatswain followed him to the poop cabin, passing by the rest of the crew.

When they entered the cabin, the boatswain addressed him cautiously. "Captain…"

Killian unfolded the drawing that the maiden had given him. "The ring you're wearing," he said, "It belongs to her. Return it at once."

"I beg your pardon, Captain," said the Boatswain, unrepentantly, "I didn't know that thieving was something pirates should never do. Oughtn't we return everything else we took as well?"

"If only you could!" Killian snapped.

"You promised us that we would live by our own rules. Ours, not yours. This is a nasty surprise."

"You overpowered a defenseless innocent, that's a rule no better than that of the scoundrel of a king we rebelled against. Don't you realize what evil you've done?"

The boatswain retorted, "Do you? For all your—your pretty face, your pretty ways, and your pretty boys—" he almost spat the last word, and he tore off his stolen ring and tossed it on the ground, "—and your pathetic threats to make us walk the plank, at every little tantrum you throw!"

"I am your Captain!"

"That command was handed over to you because of your nepotistic brother too idiotic to live—"

"That's enough."

"You thought this sort of life would be 'good form', but I swear to you—back when we served the king, none of us would have dared!"

They glowered at one another in silence.

At last, Killian said, "Sir Boatswain, you may leave."

If he'd been older, the boatswain would have had his head off. Perhaps they might even have dueled first. Instead, Killian wondered if it were true.

After the boatswain left, Killian took the ring back to the map room. "What have I done to them, Liam?" He wondered aloud. "What am I doing?" The maiden recognized his voice and opened the door. He handed her the ring, which she received without a word, and he went back to his quarters.

The way that the stars and the moon shone outside of his window told Killian that Nigels and Harrison had roughly set the course he'd ordered them to. Through the walls, he could hear the maiden sing a sea shanty, the tune of which was familiar to him but the words were not, and it was to this that he drifted to sleep.

Cookson's sister had accompanied him when he signed on to be a cook for The Jewel of the Realm, and, for some reason, she had taken half a dozen of her friends with her. They had giggled whenever Killian passed them by, and he could not fathom why. He'd presumed it was out of mean-spirited ridicule, best ignored—until the bravest of them stole a kiss from him as they passed one another on an otherwise empty flight of stairs. When she giggled, Killian recognized the delight in it, and wondered why he ever thought it was malice.

Liam had called to him as she hurried away, and told him, "Don't let them distract you, Killian—" before distractedly having a look for himself. "Oh," he'd said, "Pity about the nose."

Killian hadn't understood that last statement, as there had been nothing remarkable to him about the lady's nose, and he found that he couldn't even remember her face. In the dream, she looked like the maiden. It couldn't have been, for the temerity to be delighted at a touch was something he thought could not survive a rude, artless courtship—but he found himself making his way down the hall after her.

The door to the map room was not only unbarred, it was missing entirely. A feeling of panic arose in Killian's heart, as if he had failed to protect something precious. He ran into the room to see the Boatswain waiting inside—and just as the dream muddled the women, Killian saw the naked Boatswain and thought that it was his brother. The maiden's song filled the room, although the maiden herself was nowhere in sight, and he could somehow understand the words—

_"Ask a maiden why she grieves,  
Ask a mother why she leaves,  
'All I am now belongs to thieves...  
and still remains the danger!'"_

It sounded like an accusation, one that he knew to be true. His brother-boatswain, knowing that he'd been caught, tried to reason it out: "Is a girl worth the ruin of the only family you've got?"

Killian replied, "You're the one who should be asking that—" and, grief-stricken, he drove his sword into the heart of the naked, and therefore unarmed, sailor—

—who lifted his head, and showed a face that mirrored Killian's own, except it had a sickly lustful grin. (Which Killian himself did grow to have, but he didn't know that he had it.)

"What, didn't I deserve a duel?" The other Killian asked, and then he laughed, and when he laughed he laughed up blood.

The dream became a memory again. He was naked, from the waist up, kneeling on a lavish four-post bed, with the fully-clothed courtesan seated on the headboard. She held a cat o' nine tails in her hand, flicking it to and fro as she spoke. "Lovemaking and battle should be a collaboration, if done properly. You wouldn't strike an unarmed invalid, would you?"

"Perhaps," Killian had said, being in a contrary mood, "If they were particularly irritating."

The courtesan had narrowed her eyes. "Oh, when we get started, you cheeky—"

"I wouldn't couple with someone unprepared, let alone unwilling," Killian interrupted. "That wouldn't be any fun."

"Then prepare yourself," she commanded.

How to prepare for the inconceivable? He was about to surrender, out of morbid curiosity of what it might be like to lose—No, more than curiosity. Trust, maybe. Trust. Inconceivable. He needed to lose, for once, but he knew that he couldn't. Perhaps this would be fun.

She asked, "What's the magic word?"

Thoughtfully, he'd run the tip of his tongue over his lip, and then replied, "Swan song."

Ropes hung from the lattice above the bed. He took the ends and tied his own wrists, with his teeth when the fingers of the tied hand couldn't reach. The courtesan drew the ropes taught, then stood before him, and with her free hand cradled his head against her hip. "Have you been naughty?"

"Oh, _yes_."

The whip landed hard, stinging his shoulder blade.

_"Granuaile is coming over the sea,  
followed by a thousand heroes, is she;  
A welcome presence would they be...  
among these evil strangers!"_

The song brought him back to the cabin. A part of him sensed that it had been his turn at the whip, but that when the courtesan had said her own magic word, he ignored her. And yet, that hadn't happened. The courtesan never came aboard _The Jolly Roger_. She enjoyed being strangled, not struck; so, she would signal, not speak, and he'd certainly paid attention. She'd referred to his ferocity, afterwards, as a high compliment. He'd been prouder of having never lost the form, and to have been a pleasure to a woman of such experience.

But in the dream, he unwrapped the rope into a damp rag and tried to wipe out the bloodstain on the inside of the courtesan's ankle. Instead, the bloodstain spread with each stroke. Eventually, he pressed the rag to the courtesan's—or the maiden's—leg, and tried to shout for help, but his voice had left him.

The courtesan's voice continued the shanty's chorus. _"Oh, row, you are welcome home! Oh, row, you're welcome home! Oh, row, you are welcome—"_

Liam's voice joined in and finished the chorus:_ "—home, now that summer's here!"_

Killian turned to look at his brother, whose skin was webbed with dreamshade poisoning as he stood in the corridor outside the map-making room, pointing to the door of the captain's quarters. Killian stumbled into the hall to follow the gesture, and he witnessed six men outside of his own cabin's door. One of them was picking the lock. The other five had their weapons drawn—daggers.

"Take care, little brother," whispered Liam.

Killian awoke to a clap of thunder. The sea was at storm, or perhaps the storm was at sea, but The Jolly Roger was in the middle of both. The cabin lurched as if the entire ship were being thrown by a great wave. His door, previously locked, flung open, and six men raised their daggers and attacked.

But they were the surprised ones, having expected a sleeping victim.

"Bad form, men!" Killian drew his sword and swiped at one, driving him back when he'd meant to surround him; parried, blocked, and locked three daggers from three of his attackers. "I don't know what time you call this."

The cabin lurched again, causing two other attackers to stumble into one another. The sixth drew a cutlass, shouted, "It's mutiny time!" And thrust at Killian, who caught at his attacker's wrist with his free hand and twisted it.

"Not that I'm entirely unbiased in opinion," said Killian, "But this is the worst mutiny ever."

He brought his sword downward and outward, the three daggers locked with it, forcing the three to drop their weapons. One scrambled to pick it up again.

"I wouldn't," Killian warned, re-directing the tip of his sword to the face of the man with the cutlass. His other arm held him—Richards—in a stranglehold. "What have I done, that's worth doing this to stop me?"

"You called us scugs!" replied Richards.

"You kidnapped and raped an innocent girl, almost killed her—did plan to kill her," Killian clarified, "And you're trying to stab me to death in my sleep because I called you a name. Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?"

The mutineer who'd stumbled—Mullins—got to his feet. "The girl's a witch!" He said, "She brought this storm upon us, and you're protecting her!"

Killian scoffed and released Richards from his chokehold, shoving him at Mullins. The cabin lurched again. Nobody stumbled. "When we fought the sea dragon, the Jolly Roger went sideways and upside-down. This isn't even a bad storm." He spread his arms in resigned frustration as he said, "I think you just don't like lasses!"

"The boatswain said it's you who doesn't," said Jack.

"Did the boatswain make an impassioned speech to this effect?" enquired Killian, although he was sure of the answer.

"Aye, the boatswain did the talking," said Mullins, "But Captain Flint knew what to do."

"Told us the truth about you."

"Made us see what's been missing all this time."

"Riding your brother's coattails into lieutenancy!"

"I won't serve a lad-loving, codfish of a Captain."

They closed in around him, those who had dropped their daggers drawing other weapons instead. Killian sighed and said, "No love lost here, lads, I assure you."

He spun, slashing the throats of five of the six men surrounding him. The fifth had ducked, so the sword blade scratched one eye.

"That…was easy," Killian said, as blood washed over the floor of the captain quarters. He stalked towards the survivor and said, nearly panting with fury, "Now you…run back to the others…and tell the rest of them…_exactly_ how easy it was for me."

Jukes, the surviving mutineer, ran off with one hand over his damaged eye. As he passed the map room door, the maiden stepped out, and looked over to the Captain's cabin, where a blood-flecked Killian was stepping over a body—young Jack, or young Simons.

"I'd won them over too quickly when we started," Killian said. He laughed. "I shouldn't have expected not to lose them just as swiftly. What are you doing out of your room, lass?"

The maiden took a step back, towards the stairs, saying something that sounded as if she were attempting to soothe him while being quite afraid herself. She held her precious ring in both hands, where the stone in the center glowed with blue magic.

"A walk around the deck, then? This is fine weather for that." He took a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his sleeve down, and offered his arm.

The maiden glanced at the dead bodies in the cabin, looked back at the Captain, said something in a cautious or perhaps sarcastic tone—but she took his arm, and they made their way up the stairs.


	4. The Crone

**Chapter 4**

Cookson struggled against Nigels the Navigator. "The captain lives!" the one-eyed mutineer shouted as he ran past them.

The navigator dropped his noose, and dropped to his knees as Killian approached. "Captain!"

"Am I still?" asked Killian

"I am so sorry—It was First Mate Flint—he told us—to kill you! I stayed behind because I couldn't do it—"

"Don't believe him!" Cookson wheezed. "It's because I stopped them and he said he'd handle me!"

Killian rolled his eyes and told the navigator, "Stand on your feet if you can't stand on principle."

"Aye, Captain—" Nigels began, and Killian drew his sword and gutted him before he'd finished speaking.

He said, "I can't have a navigator who loses his way so easily." The body fell to the ground. "All right, there? Cookson?"

The cook sputtered, shocked, looked from the shyly smiling maiden to the unruffled captain and said, "That—Captain, that was a line I thought…" He trailed off.

"I'd never cross, yes," Killian finished as he walked on past him. "I'm drawing some new ones. It's been a bad day."

The deck was drenched in torrential rain, each droplet of which glowed with the same blue light as the maiden's magic ring. In this light, Killian could see that the three gunners were tied to the mast, and the quartermaster's body lay splayed on deck, as the first mate and boatswain wrestled one another behind the helm.

"Now that's just confusing," Killian remarked. The maiden released his arm as the cloud of blue magic enveloped her. "Are you confused, Jukes?"

"N-No, Captain!" said Jukes. "Five men fell dead at one stroke. You're my Captain, right enough! Two against two is a fair fight, or I don't know what is!"

Killian scoffed at Jukes and nudged the quartermaster's body with his boot. Quartermaster Teyente groaned and raised himself to his knees. Killian helped him up the rest of the way.

"After what just happened below deck," Killian announced, "I was expecting an ambush, not a battle. I knew Cookson was exaggerating!"

Blackbeard had heard him, and called from over the poop. "You're alive! It can't be!"

"Free the gunners, and secure the safety lines," Killian ordered Teyente.

"And the girl?" Teyente asked, looking askance at her as she levitated.

Killian looked up at her and shrugged. "She can handle herself."

Flint called down from helm, "Witchcraft! You've doomed us all, Jones!"

Killian ascended the stairs, saying, "I'll take that as a compliment, and strive to be worthy of it. Really, Flint, if you want to be captain of anything again, you should duel for it—not send impressionable young boys to stab slumbering targets to complacency."

"You don't deserve a duel," Blackbeard said.

"Ah, but I _insist_ upon it—" With that and a smirk, Killian drew his sword.

It should be written that he did away with Flint as easily as he had done away with the mutineers below deck. Flint, alas, was an old sea dog with phenomenally good balance and a knack for fighting dirty. He'd distract Killian with the clashing of their steel swords, and then land a kick to the knee or a headbutt. Had Teyente not ascended the stairs opposite and engaged Blackbeard in a fistfight (his sword had been stolen by Nigels the Navigator,) then Killian might have met his end.

As it was, the young Captain Jones merely found himself momentarily outmatched. A wave broke against the deck, making Killian lose his footing. He fell against the helm, twisting his elbow. His sword clattered out of his hand.

"Done playing pirate yet?" Flint demanded, looming over Killian, and he drew his sword back and answered himself, "I'd say you are…"

But something was looming over Flint, and Killian stared at it until Flint grew concerned, and turned, and stared at it.

It was the figure of a woman, her hair made of lightning bolts, her eyes like two full moons, her body of clouds and ocean water ending in black waves like octopus tentacles. She towered over the boat to the height of a mountain, and seemed just as ancient.

The storm calmed.

The crone spoke, in a voice that bypassed their ears and galvanized their minds. _"Who dared to profane the sacredness of My priestess?" _The figure's gaze bore down on Flint and Blackbeard. _"I know your minds. I see your hearts…"_ She moved onto Killian, Teyente, Jukes, and all three gunners. _"You shall all feel the wrath of the goddess."_

The maiden, floating somewhere above the midmast, objected to this.

The crone pondered Killian. _"He's no different. But if you request, my foolish child, then he will be under my protection as I lay waste to every other mortal on this ship..."_

"No." Killian winced as he pulled himself to his feet. "With all due respect, Milady, I'm no supporter of divine wrath. All that magic doesn't strike me as fair."

_"Fair?"_ The blue haze around the crone turned dusken orange with her fury._ "How many more of My chosen people must suffer injustice without retribution?"_

"Gods only know," Killian said, "But I won't hide under Your protection, or hers—" he gestured to the maiden "—while you do what you will to my men. As you say, I'm no different. Only I am." He glanced at Flint. "I'm their Captain. Their failures are mine."

_"Would you bear the curse of the sea crone?"_

"If that's justice done…" Killian said, "Aye, that I would."

Eight tentacle-tips crept on deck, black as tar, and they surrounded him—poised to strike. The gunners, freed by Jukes, took their stances against the threatening shapes.

_"Aren't you afraid?"_

"Never," answered Killian. The tentacles converged, blotting out his vision.

And then he was afraid. He felt a heavy hand over his nose and mouth as the _Maimie Mannering_ burned all around, and the thought, _"This one doesn't want to kill me…no…but I'm a priestess…"_ The thought came with a peculiar sort of heartbreak, more like snuffing out a flame.

He choked in a cloud of some pink dust—He was on land, but not landsick. A glimpse of Nigels' face, then a spinning room. Suddenly, he was afraid of poppyseed dust—Suddenly, he had _always been afraid of poppyseed dust_.

He heard Teyente and Murphy singing a shanty together, drunkenly, and realized that the sinister edge he had heard to his crew's laughter that morning had_ always_ been there, to some passers-by. A part of Killian that was still himself said that he couldn't very well forbid merrymaking, but he understood this merely as a bothersome whitecap over a much deeper sea...

He was in a castle. There was a key in his hand, and the key was bleeding. It had been a desperate move, to break that rule, and all it had earned was access to a room full of bones and gristle. This was where it would all end, and how—slaughtered, and butchered. He turned, as many victims had, towards the door, and their final thoughts echoed in his mind—

_But I wanted to be an adventurer…It's too soon, to never be…but there's no escape…_

…_Who will remember my old mother in the winter? I'm all she has left, I trusted my husband to help her, oh, but I hope he forgets if this is what he does…_

_"In the name of Ruel Ghorm, have mercy! I loved you, I carry our child!"_

The boatswain was unmoved. In the vision, he did have a beard. He grinned like a blade, and the blade in his hand glinted like a smile.

Despair, fear, and pain swelled like the crest of a wave. The combined intensity of the visions—which were not only visual, but visceral—seemed to rip the world into sea foam.

Killian might have managed to shout a fraction of an "ow".


	5. Legal Matters

**Chapter 5**

When Killian came to himself again, he was standing on deck with a ring on his right index finger that he didn't put on. It was simpler than the maiden's ring, and the oval stone was black. He could see this in the moonlight—the clouds had cleared, and the crone was gone, but what he couldn't see or reason out he just knew: this was his, and it was given by the sea crone.

What was left of his crew all stood present at the helm, including Cookson.

"The girl's in the crow's nest, but the ladder's blown away," Cookson said. "Captain, what's happened?"

"What are we to do now?" asked Teyente, stepping over a knocked-out boatswain.

Killian said, "Chekhov, Foggerty—take Flint to the brig."

Flint gave a sarcastic laugh and attacked. With a gesture from Killian, a cloud of dark magic glowed around him, causing Flint to cry out in pain and fall to his knees.

Killian said, knowing it to be true, "As long as I am captain and you are on my ship, Flint, I am standing between you and the curse of the sea crone. Could you bear more of this?"

Flint choked, "No!"

"That's what I'm doing right now."

"All right, I'll go into the brig! Just stop!"

The dark magic dissipated. Chekhov yanked Flint's vest collar up so that Flint was forced to his feet, and Foggerty pushed him onwards.

"Murphy, Teyente—take the Boatswain to his quarters. I trust he'll give you less trouble..." Killian steeled himself. "The rest of you set the funeral linens out."

Killian brought the bodies up himself. Mullins was found to be merely wounded, and Cookson attended to him because Thomas the Surgeon was definitely dead. Thus, five bodies, not six, were wrapped in shrouds and dropped into the ocean at moonset. Killian himself corrected their course and continued to sail for Port Barrie.

The maiden stayed in the crow's nest, whistling up exactly the right sort of wind.

At dawn, Teyente took over as helmsman. Killian went to his quarters to see the Boatswain scrubbing the floor.

"At ease, Sir de Ray," said Killian, using the name by which the Boatswain went, when they still sailed as the crew of _The Jewel of the Realm_.

"It's Blackbeard, Captain," said the Boatswain, as he got to his feet.

"There's many a pirate named Blackbeard, now," said Killian. "It's in imitation of a legend, isn't it? Common, I always thought, but as it was you, I accepted it."

The Boatswain set his jaw and said nothing.

"Landlubbers have legends, too." Killian continued, "I remember quite a ghastly one, of a man with a beard so black that it appeared blue. He would wed a free-spirited and curious lady, give her the keys to every room in the castle—and forbid her from entering one particular room. When she would be true to herself, she would find him false to her, having kept a room full of the dead bodies of his previous wives."

"He wouldn't have been false to her, then, if they were dead," said the boatswain. "If you ask me, she was false to him—breaking his rules."

"Rebellion never comes about for its own sake, I know that well." Killian paced the room. "Perhaps she was trapped, and suspected the forbidden door to be an escape route. But it wasn't."

The Boatswain smiled. "How deeply you feel for these stories."

"I like the stories. They're hopeful," Killian said. "The legend goes on that one of these ladies begged this monster to lock her in a tower, so that she could make her peace with her fairy godmother. He thought that his dark magic would keep away even Reul Ghorm, so he did as she begged him to—so that he could feed on her helplessness and despair. Instead, she signaled to her family to save her. And they did.

"But that never happened, did it? That's something that the knights tell each other, when they find a castle full of corpses and can never put the murderer to justice. The families of the victims can only remember one detail, and that can be well-hidden with a shave. 'Someone must have been clever enough to stop him', they all tell themselves and each other. They hope, and they tell the story. Isn't that right?"

The Boatswain shrugged. "How should I know?"

"You would know, Bluebeard," said Killian. "You lied to me. You have done much, much worse under the service of the king!"

"And you think my becoming a pirate reined me in?" The Boatswain began to laugh. "_Or have I a girl in every port?_"

Killian seethed, "You're a monster, Gil de Ray. _Bluebeard_."

"The magic has addled your mind, Captain. When did I stop being the loyal boatswain, who you always had to make sure his vest was buttoned on properly? Whose rum you took so that he wouldn't get drunk? Who cleans your room after your own slaughter—"

"I didn't tell you to."

"But wasn't it right? I gave you your brother's satchel, and was the loudest to cheer for Captain Jones. By Ursula's cauldron, I would have you remember my humanity, not the monstrosity. You do see it, don't you," urged Bluebeard, "That's why I'm not locked up in the bilge while Flint is…"

"Maybe I thought of a worse fate for you," said Killian. "Why would you scrub the floors of my quarters, Bluebeard? I thought you liked blood. Or is it some Ursulanian compulsion for cleanliness?" He began to glow with dark magic. "Or is it that you know the power of a blood sacrifice in Ursulan witchcraft?"

A portal opened up under Bluebeard's feet, to a dark tunnel lined with many doors that would lead nowhere, and a formless presence that would hound anyone within. Bluebeard caught himself on the edge.

"She isn't one of us!" Bluebeard argued, "How could you do this?"

"I'm the bloody Captain," said Killian, drawing his sword and tracing Bluebeards fingertips with it. "You'll follow my rules. My justice, my vengeance...because I have become one with your victims, Bluebeard, and I will _never_ be so helpless again." He drove the tip between the nail and the quick of Bluebeard's hand, the Boatswain flinched and jerked his hand back—and then he fell.

When the portal closed, all the bloodstains were gone from the captain's quarters. It wasn't an entirely other world, Killian knew, it wasn't a Neverland, more like a pocket in the world—or a pouch, that he'd sewed up from a kerchief in a moment and tied the drawstrings.

Killian never had much interest in magic. He would see the sparks and glowing coloured clouds, and think that was what it was about. Whatever he was wielding tied directly to his own emotions, and the ease by which the magic manifested was certainly cause for anxiety. But the ring refused to come off.

When Killian went back on deck, Murphy was there to meet him.

"We'll be in Port Barrie soon," he told the captain, breathlessly. "We thought the ship wouldn't need gunmen, so we'll handle the riggings—Chekov and Foggerty and I."

"Very well," said Killian. "I'll boatswain for Bluebeard—sorry, Blackbeard…since he's…indisposed, at present." He twisted the ring on his finger again.

"Captain," said Murphy, "Would you conduct a marriage before docking?"

"The maiden's taken your fancy, and you thought this the more honorable way to take her—rather than getting her opinion of you? Is that it?" Killian's mind was still on Bluebeard and his wives.

"The maiden's got nothing to do with it," said Murphy. "It's for Cookson and I."

"Each of you with whom?"

"Cookson and I," Murphy repeated.

Killian paused. "Ah. I thought you were related to each other by blood...?"

"Cookson is white," Murphy told him, meaning no.

"Stranger things have happened." Killian reached for the flask of rum at his side.s

"Such as a codfish wedding?"

_Oh,_ thought Killian, _So_ that's _what 'codfish' means_. "Such as friendship between men. We thought you must have been blood brothers because you both seemed so close." He got the cork loose, and toasted the air. "To you and Cookson. Four winds bless you. Was that enough?" He took a gulp, then passed it to Murphy. "Just hand that over to Cookson if it wasn't."

"We're Ursulan, actually…me and Cookson…"

Killian gave a whining groan of complaint.

"It would send a message to the rest of the crew," Murphy insisted, "Cookson and I had hid it all this time because we thought they would kill us for it. They almost killed you for it, and you're not even really…well…"

"I doubt that it would be so simple," said Killian. "But go ask the girl in the crow's nest. She's a priestess." He turned to go.

"I do have a brother on this ship," said Murphy, "Or I did."

Killian stopped and turned to him.

"Jack," Murphy answered the unspoken question. "It's all right. Well, it's not…but, he never would have stood for this, my being...Well, perhaps be already knew, which was why there was nothing I could say to talk him out of what he'd done to the wench, and what he tried to do to you. He was in such a hurry to grow into a man, that he forgot his ambition to be a good person."

But now you'll never know what he would have been, thought Killian. "Have I begun a blood feud, Murphy?"

"No, no," he replied, "But married or not, Cookson and I won't be part of your crew any longer. When we dock at Port Barrie, that's where we'll settle."

"So give us something to remember," said Killian. He whistled the chorus of 'Granuaile's Thousand Heroes' to catch the maiden's attention, which worked. With her magic ring, she floated down from the crow's nest onto the deck.

Communicating why he had called her down proved complicated. An Ursulan Wedding tended to be complicated, which was why Killian groaned to hear it. First, a length of rope was knotted—from one end by Murphy, four times; from the other end by Cooksoon, also four times. They would say their vows as they did this, naming four virtues each that corresponded to one of the eight winds, and these were virtues that they pledged to keep in their marriage. They held hands for the priestess to loop the rope thrice about, speaking ritual bindings of the sky, land, and sea—this ritual speech is quite long in the common language. The maiden's language either had far more elaborate grammar, or elaborate vocabulary, or she spoke slowly, but it had to have been the same pronouncement. In any case, they were already at Port Barrie before the wedding finished. Finally, a circle of salt was scattered on the ground, that circle on which both would-be spouses stood in the center of, and then the priestess poured rainwater over both their heads until the salt was washed away.

Killian mustered up quite a lot of cheer that he didn't mean—he'd even changed into his red longcoat with the gold hem, and wore a funny wide-brimmed hat with a large feather in it just so he could take it off his head and throw it in the air as he cheered. The curse kept him solemn, behind his face. Still, his men found the cheer infectious, even Jukes with the eyepatch and Mullins with the stitches on his neck. Flint, who attended the wedding in fetters, not so much.

For her priestessly service, Killian gave the maiden a bag of gold pieces, which she accepted. She gave him her ring, the stone of which turned black in his hands, and then she disappeared into the crowd of the town.

Killian slipped the ring onto the ring finger of his right hand.

They all went to drink at the first tavern that they found, even Jukes who should have had his eye looked at by a proper surgeon and not a cook. Teyente elected to take care of Flint.

It occurred to Chekhov and Foggerty that their crew was shrinking, and they improvised a pub jig to call for recruits. They'd had to wait until two very short people who were not dwarves had finished singing about a red pony as they danced on the table; and then an announcement that a distant princess of an allied kingdom would wed the king. Her name was Buttercup, which Killian thought sounded familiar. And then it was the gunmen's turn:

_"You'll love the life of a thief!  
You'll relish the life of a crook!  
There's barrels of fun  
enough for every one,  
and you'll get treasures by the ton  
So come and sign the book!  
Join up with Captain Jones!_"

"Not sure about those last two lines," said Teyente, as he sidled up to Killian at the bar.

"Could you say 'no' to this face, Teyente?"

Teyente considered for a moment, then said, "I'd say no to anyone who would let themselves get distracted by your face, sir. We sail quite rough seas, if last night was any indication, and I'll welcome women on board again but not silliness of any sort. And no sorcery. Not that being under a curse would count, of course." He added, "Nor teapots..." He had one of his own in the quartermaster's master quarters.

Killian changed the subject. "Aren't you supposed to be taking care of Flint?

"Oh, Flint's taken care of, sir. Drunk himself to death, just like Barbecue said he already had. The dreamshade thorn didn't help him either, I don't think. Mutiny's not to be tolerated."

Killian raised an eyebrow. "Would you like to be Captain, Teyente?"

"Not for the world would I take your burden. Quartermaster's fine by me."

"Just tell me next time you want to borrow a dreamshade thorn," said Killian. "There's not much left, and who knows when we might really need it."

Teyente laughed. "Finally, forgiveness is easier to get from Killian Jones than permission. How we've grown."

The kitchen knave came about with another round of drinks, and fresh-baked bread rolls.

"Teyente," said Killian, "Do you remember Cookson's sister's friend?"

"Which one?"

"The one…" Killian sighed. "The one with the nose."

"Elena Harper," Teyente said immediately. "Family legacy of bards. How disappointed her parents were that she went for a knighthood."

"Disappointed…at a knighthood?" Killian frowned. "But that's a high honor if it weren't impossible for a woman—"

"She went to school for it in The Woods, they do things differently there." Teyente added, "She's killed dragons. Oh, but then she died in the attempted conquest of the Sunset Isles, I heard."

"Not so differently done, then," said Killian.

Teyente, understanding his meaning, raised the mug. "Here's to the fools who die for their kingdoms." He drank deeply.

"To the fools who die from their kingdoms," Killian said, finally moving his mug to toast—but Teyente had gotten distracted by a game of find-the-lady being played at another table.

Killian kept drinking.

Another man approached the bar, asking or a cup of coffee with cream and caster sugar on top.

"I wouldn't trust the caster's coffee around these parts, mate," Killian remarked. "The sugar might not be properly bespelled, but rather than leave it be, they'll try anyway."

The man turned to him. His face broke into a smile. "Can it be? Master Jones?"

Killian never forgot a face, especially not one of his favorite students. "Charles Turley. What brings you to these parts? How fares our Mistress?"

"Mistress Amara's doing very well—" Amara, of course, being the name of the courtier who had taken Killian under her wing. Turley continued, "I'm just looking for adventure. I don't suppose your pirate crew could use a steward?"

At one point during these festivities, Killian remembered being enamored with a woman whose long, dark hair curled like melted candles.

"You have the hairiest love," Killian slurred, when he meant to say 'you have the loveliest hair', "Why, if I were a lass, I'd grow my hair that long and curl it—curl everything! Eyebrows! Mustacheses!"

He thought he was being very funny.

The next morning, he awoke outside of the tavern.

His red longcoat with the gold hem had been stolen, and he was enveloped in a cloud of pixie dust.

"We're so sorry, Captain!" Foggerty said, "We would have let you rest a little longer, but…"

"A little longer, here?" rasped Killian. "Couldn't any of you have dragged me back to _The Jolly_?" He blinked hard and forced his eyes open. Foggerty wasn't alone—Murphy was with him, and an old woman who looked to be from the Dawnlands, a young man who had four sparkly wings growing out his back, a girl dressed as a boy, a dwarf, and a man in rags with a noble way of standing.

"That's the problem," said Foggerty, "The rest of the crew did something for a joke that we think is going a mite too far…Remember the mother you were flirting with last night?"

"Whose mother?"

"I'm sure I don't know," Murphy interrupted, "But the child's with Cookson now, somewhere—Cookson's abandoned us."

"Just a joke, I'm sure they'll be back!" Foggerty objected.

"We've been saying that since last night, Foggerty."

"Who the bloody hell are all of you?" Killian asked the others.

"The new crew," said the man with wings. "Well, except for me. The name's Skylights."

"You're a fairy," Killian observed. "Why pixie dust? I've had enough of magic to last a lifetime—" He looked down at the rings on his own hand, the stones of which had turned red. "When did that happen?"

Murphy and Foggerty exchanged guilty looks.

"If pixie dust broke my curse, then I should thank you," Killian told Skylights.

"Why don't you meet the rest of your crew, first?" Skylights suggested.


	6. The Mother

**Chapter 6**

They brought him back into the tavern, where Killian mumbled something sarcastic at the bartender, through his drowsiness.

"Don't give me that, pirate," said the barkeep, "This isn't an inn. Hair of the dog, then?"

"We'll just sit," said Killian, wincing. "What, the breakfast crowd's not come in yet. Haven't I given you enough business?"

The barkeep shrugged and went about wiping down the other tables.

The old woman had applied to be the new chef. She was indeed from the Dawnlands, but she spoke the common language without a trace of an accent. She was used to cooking for a large family—she'd had a husband, eight sons, five stepsons, all beloved, and all of whom died in the ogre wars. Her widow's pension was regularly overlooked—she suspected, because of her Dawnland appearance, so she wanted to spend her last days adventuring with pirates because she hated the corrupt and immoral kingdom for which her entire family had died.

"Welcome to the crew," Killian told her, with sincere warmth, although his drunken headache might have gotten in the way. As he shook hands with her, he noticed that the thumbs on her hand were set backwards.

"A birth defect," she explained, "I think it helps me roll the noodles that much faster. It's why people here call me Noodler."

The girl dressed as a boy insisted that she was a boy. She had papers.

"Certification... and references," said Killian, raising an eyebrow. "Considering that you're applying for a position on a pirate ship where none would be needed, usually, I'm sure these are excellent. You know…" he looked at Noodler, "No one need disguise themselves, on this crew. Any untoward behavior against one another would be harshly dealt with, in recent events it was especially against dishonorable behavior towards a lass."

"That's admirable," said the girl dressed as a boy, "But I don't see how it would help me. I'm just an ordinary boy. I do hope the references would persuade you see that I have something more to offer than courtesy towards my fellow crewmates."

"Right," Killian said. "Well, you won't need certification, fake or otherwise. The moment you join us, you pledge to make a name for yourself. What's your name, lad?"

"Oliver."

"Welcome aboard."

"It's Polly, really," whispered Noodler to Killian, "But she's insisted upon Oliver from the moment she learned to talk."

The dwarf was next to introduce himself. "Alf Mason," said the gray-bearded dwarf, gruffly.

"What brings you out of the fairy dust mines?" asked Killian.

"He was never in them," said Skylights. "I'm sorry for interrupting. Alfie's my child…with a similar condition that I have, so I'm anxious to send him off. Ship's carpenter is good work, isn't it?"

"A similar condition?" Killian looked from Skylights, the male fairy, to Alf Mason…who must have been, then, a female dwarf. "Is this town dangerous for you both?"

"I'll be fine," said Skylights, "I have magic. And I do have a duty to my godchild…but Alf..."

"I don't take people in out of pity," said Killian.

Foggerty interrupted, "He replaced the rope ladder from the crow's nest with a spiral staircase. Before the others sai-"

Murphy clapped his hand over Foggerty's mouth.

"I'd like to see that," said Killian, without suspicion or sarcasm. He trusted Foggerty's judgment, even if Murphy was being strangely rude to the assistant gunner. "Welcome aboard, Sir Mason. Or Sir Carpenter, it should be. New Master Carpenter. Jukes is demoted to carpenter's mate."

The man in rags introduced himself as Geordie, and he was very anxious to be off before anybody discovered that he wasn't dead.

"And are you dead?" asked Killian, conversationally.

"A few times I was, yes, but it doesn't last," Geordie replied. "I don't know why. It has given me more experience with being a surgeon than I'd like, mind you. I can't make anyone immortal like me, but I've had personal experience patching up a great variety of unfortunate injuries."

At that moment, Charles Turley descended from the stairs.

Killian gave him the side-eye. "I thought the barkeep said that this wasn't an inn."

Turley smiled. "I did him a favor." The smile faded when he saw Geordie.

"You!" the said in unison, Turley with a wide-eyed surprise, Geordie with a snarl.

"New rule," said Killian, "All disputes between our crew members shall be settled by a gentlemanly duel on land. We should write that down and make people sign to agree to it…"

"Jukes can write them," said Murphy. "Other pirates have copies of such contracts. He'd mentioned them before, but us once being the King's navy I admit that we snubbed him."

Charles Turley won the duel with Geordie that would have been to the death, if Geordie had not sewn up and cauterized his own injury.

"Well done. I've met everyone, then," said Killian. "So, let's set sail…"

"Captain," said Murphy, following Killian out the door. "I would re-join your crew, if you'd have me. Now that the curse is gone."

"How did that happen, anyway?" Killian stumbled out to the allyway, trying to remember. There was a woman with dark, curly hair…She beat Teyente in an arm-wrestling match, swore worse than a pirate…Before that, she was looking to sell her grandmother's ring, and Killian's curse compelled him to buy it from her…"That woman who sold me the ring…"

"Got her ring back," Foggerty informed him cheerfully. "Kept your money. She was going to buy food for her family, which Cookson gave for free."

"Where's Cookson?"

"On The Jolly Roger, with the mother, her child, Teyente, Turley, and Chekhov," Murphy said. "Mullins and Jukes went to see a real surgeon in this town. You know, I don't believe Cookson wanted to settle down after all…I mean..." They'd arrived at the harbor. "They've sailed without us. You see?"

At the sight of the empty space where _The Jolly Roger_ had been, Killian narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. "Did Teyente figure that Quartermaster wasn't good enough for him after all? Or did Turley get carried away on an adventure?"

"The mother elected herself Captain Pirate Queen, and got everyone to agree," Murphy reminded him.

"That woman stole my ship!" Killian exclaimed.

"And your red coat, and your dress hat," said Foggerty, who had caught up with them. "Looked quite fine in it, too."

"I'd given it to her," said Killian, "And… she'd drawn a mustache on her face with a charcoal pencil. Then I kissed her." He looked back at his rings. "True love's kiss breaks any curse... Skylights!"

"Please don't kill me, Captain Jones," said Skylights.

"That thief is your godchild, isn't she? You're her godfather, and the pixie dust was to find her true love!'

"I-I thought she'd be with you," said Skylights.

"Well, she's not. We have to find her, and more importantly—my ship! Tell me her name."


	7. The End

"Her name… is Milah," answered Skylights.

"Right," said Killian. He turned to his crew. "You all want to be pirates? Let's get our ship back!"

THE END

* * *

I did want to end on something light, even though it might not have been well thought-through. The names of the crew of _The Jolly Roger _are from J.M. Barrie's novel, although I was very eager to put my own spin on them.

As for the names of regions in the Enchanted Forest: Muirias is borrowed from the _Lebor Gabála Érenn_, the first cycle of Irish mythology/history, where it is mentioned as one of four great cities that the Tuatha de Dannan (who might have retreated into the hills to be known as the Sidhe, or the fairy folk) were said to originate. I imagine that Muirias is an oceanic kingdom (since it probably means something like "ocean city") over which Eric would eventually rule a part of, although, at the time this story begins Ursulanism has not yet become a dominant religion. It might already be declared the state religion of another part of Muirias, ruled by King Gordias, father of Midas, who in turn would be the father of the unimaginatively named Gordias, who in turn would be the father of the equally unimaginatively named Midas, who in turn would be the father of Abigail.

The King who Killian hates so much would have exiled good princess Cordelia just as Ogre War I broke out, and she would become Queen of a neighboring kingdom and eventually ancestor to Belle French. The kingdom Cordelia left behind, a diumvirate between Queen Gonerill and Queen Regan, would make a great argument against matrilineal succession in the surrounding kingdoms for a couple generations maybe. The Moorlands on the border of The Woods would eventually become Cora's homeland ruled by King Xavier, the Sunset Isles is destined to be ruled in part by King Arthur Pendragon, the Sunrise Isles is off the coast of Mulan's and Aurora's homeland, and the area known as The Woods is and always will be a vast and perpetually fractured territory where matrilineal succession just happens a lot like it ain't no big thing.

All of this is completely made up and only noted for funzies: this is_ Once Upon A Time_, after all, not _The Silmarillion of Ice and Fire_.


End file.
